


the sun never says

by kisscollide



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Genderbent Miya Twins, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, bff-ery, emotionally constipated people being in love, lots of pining, love in secret, some mild angst (it cannot be helped), this has a happy ever after i promise, well mostly fluff, young people being ridiculous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27710873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisscollide/pseuds/kisscollide
Summary: People at their university thought Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Asami were dating. That was a hundred percent false, but they both really couldn’t care less what others thought.Sakusa’s cousin Komori Motoya got a huge kick out of it and enjoyed listening to people talk about Sakusa and Asami online and in real life, while Asami’s twin sister Atsumi thought it was the stupidest thing ever and wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 54





	the sun never says

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted girl!Tsumu to fall in love with college boy!Omi, okay. Moody young people and their feelings, sigh.
> 
> Thank you, Ri (kagehinabokeh) for the hand-holding and encouragement. You are the Tsumi to my Sami. ❤️
> 
> Fic title from a poem attributed by Daniel Ladinsky to Hafez. Chapter titles from “So It Goes” by Marianas Trench; Kiyoomi reads “Love Sonnet XI” by Pablo Neruda (chosen by kagehinabokeh).

_Even after all this time  
The sun never says to the earth  
"You owe me."  
Look what happens with a love like that  
It lights the whole sky._

—Hafez (as "translated" by Daniel Ladinsky)

People at their university thought Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Asami were dating. That was a hundred percent false, but they both really couldn’t care less what others thought. They were close friends, nothing more. Just two people who were similar in a lot of ways, two people who enjoyed a lot of the same things and who enjoyed being in each other’s orbit. The dating rumors gave Sakusa an unexpected benefit, though—people were less inclined to ask him out on dates when they thought he was in a relationship with one half of the renowned Miya twins. He wasn’t sure what Asami got out of this odd situation, but he couldn’t be bothered to ask. As long as Sami was fine with it, he was good too.

Those who knew them both personally either thought that the rumors were entertaining or preposterous. Sakusa’s cousin Komori Motoya got a huge kick out of it and enjoyed listening to people talk about Sakusa and Asami online and in real life, while Asami’s twin sister Atsumi thought it was the stupidest thing ever and wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

“If another bitch from the other programs comes to me again to ask if you and Omi-Omi are dating, I swear to god, Sami, I—” Miya Atsumi huffed at her sister, flicking her long blonde ponytail over her shoulder.

Asami looked up from the recipe she was reading on her tablet. “Just tell them yes and let them go on with their lives, Tsumi, it isn’t that hard.”

“I cannot understand why you even encourage this, what the heck.” Atsumi frowned at her sister.

Asami laughed. “People are stupid.” She blew her silver-gray bangs out of her eye. “They won’t believe us anyway, so why fight it?”

Kiyoomi liked his personal space, loved it most when he had lots and lots of it. Atsumi understood that Kiyoomi was using the dating rumors to create more space for himself. She supposed that she couldn’t stay annoyed at something that actually helped him, as much as she hated all the nosy brats that kept asking too many questions. Atsumi watched him now as he sat at Asami’s spacious worktable, his pencil gliding steadily across a page of his notebook, his hand moving in careful, precise strokes. To be honest, Atsumi also understood why and how people would assume that her sister and Kiyoomi were dating—they were thick as thieves, two quiet people who seemed to thrive in companionable silence. They weren’t joined at the hip, but they spent enough time together for people to notice. Kiyoomi would almost always find himself in Asami’s workshop just outside campus, just as he did today, even without Asami there, because he liked the smell of food and the lack of people.

“Tea, Omi-Omi?” Atsumi asked as she finally walked in what Asami called the workroom—a kitchen and pantry where Asami made all sorts of delicious things. Atsumi moved to fill the kettle with water before Kiyoomi even got to reply.

He looked up, his pencil now still. “Ah, Atsumi. Yes, please. Thank you. Were you upstairs when I came in?”

“Yes, I’ve been just sleeping all morning.” Atsumi chuckled. “Sami has class all day. Overachiever.”

He gave the smallest scoff and glanced back at the textbook before him, his hand beginning to move again.

Whenever Asami and Kiyoomi hung out, they spent most of the time in silence, both of them just doing their own thing. Usually Asami would be cooking and Kiyoomi would be studying or reading a book for his own leisure. They didn’t have to talk, so the quiet reigned, only broken when Asami had a question or when she asked Kiyoomi to try something she made. Kiyoomi responded whenever needed, but he never initiated conversation unless he had to. The only time Kiyoomi’s voice could be heard at length was when he read poems out loud at Asami’s request. He’d always liked poetry, the cadence of them, the pauses, the imagery. He supposed songs worked the same way, but there was something about poems not having their own sound that made it more appealing to Kiyoomi: That way he could imagine the way the music rose and fell, the way the words gave way to melodies. Some poems sounded the same to him every time, but others were highly changeable, seemingly dependent on his every mood. He tried to read the way he felt, the way he heard it in his head. It didn’t really seem to matter to Asami, however; she seemed happy enough regardless of how Kiyoomi read the poems. Perhaps she heard the poems in her own way, Kiyoomi thought. Perhaps all poems, no matter the mood or intensity, made her feel glad. And so Kiyoomi would always oblige her.

“Here you go, Kiyoomi-bocchan,” Atsumi said, setting a steaming mug before Kiyoomi. “Your tea.”

He looked up, the corners of his lips turning up slightly as he recognized the aroma of his favored roasted green tea. “Thank you for your kindness, Atsumi-ojousama,” he replied, letting go of his mechanical pencil and reaching for the mug.

Atsumi flashed him a brilliant smile, her eyes disappearing into crescents. “Would you like something to go with the tea?” She moved toward the pastry chiller. “I think there are some cookies here that would be great for hojicha.”

They decided on some banana-cream-filled chocolate cookie sandwiches, and Atsumi settled down on a stool across the table from Kiyoomi. She would ask so many questions about what he was working on at the moment, would tell him so many stories about people and things. Atsumi would fill the space with sound and laughter and a particular kind of light that reminded Kiyoomi of soft sunshine on a cool April day. 

Kiyoomi remembered being eleven years old, having been dragged over to some family friend’s house. He didn’t want to go, didn’t want to meet people, didn’t want to stay in spaces unfamiliar. His sister had promised him umeboshi (“A whole month’s worth, Ki-kun! Wouldn’t that be awesome?”) so there he was, annoyed, uncomfortable, uncertain, sitting in someone’s living room. Kiyoomi had brought a book, but the restlessness was too difficult to shake; the words just bled into each other and he couldn’t get past this one paragraph.

“Hi!” the voice was bright, vivid, and Kiyoomi looked up, thinking about how the greeting had sounded like a song. There was a blur of movement, and the next thing he knew, a girl with ponytails was standing in front of the armchair he occupied.

The girl grinned, a twinkle in her eye. “My name’s Miya Atsumi and I live here.” She looked closer into Kiyoomi’s face. “What’s your name?”

Kiyoomi had thought her annoying, and he didn’t think twice about telling her so after a handful of meetings. Their mothers were high school best friends, and so when the Sakusa family moved to Hyogo when Kiyoomi was in sixth grade, coming over to the Miya house became a regular thing. Sometimes Kiyoomi got to stay home, which he liked best, but that meant Atsumi would be rummaging through his things while their mothers chitchatted over tea. Her sister Asami would either be in the dining room, sampling whatever snacks Kiyoomi’s mother made that day or just occupying her own spot in another corner of Kiyoomi’s room, taking a nap or playing a game. Kiyoomi had long decided that Asami was all right. He was, however, reserving judgment on the other twin: He wasn’t quite sure what to make of messy, loud, and argumentative Atsumi. But Kiyoomi supposed that she was sort of his friend now too, so he wouldn’t say that he hated her or anything.

He would tell Atsumi to be quiet, he’s reading, couldn’t she see that? Atsumi would mutter a half-meant apology, throwing in a wide smile for good measure before sitting just within a distance that Kiyoomi would allow. Not as close as she’d wanted, but even at ten years old, she understood that Omi-kun didn’t like having people too close. The fact that Atsumi and her sister were even allowed into his room felt like a triumph. Kiyoomi was very particular about people—being here in his room meant Atsumi was in a very small group that Omi-kun liked well enough! And so it went, Atsumi and Asami just happy to be able to spend time with their quiet friend, bother him on occasion; on particularly good days, when Kiyoomi felt especially generous, he would play a sonata for an audience of two, his fingers dancing across the piano. Atsumi liked that best, though getting a rise out of the usually calm Kiyoomi came a close second.

They didn’t plan to attend the same university, but that’s what ended up happening anyway, and cousin Motoya was there too. They made an interesting crew at the very least: It made sense for the popular Miya twins, who were equal parts appealing and intimidating, to be friends with Komori Motoya, easygoing and ever friendly, but with Sakusa Kiyoomi? He cut an imposing figure, almost always with a mask over his mouth, brooding, aloof. People knew they’d grown up together, the four of them, and everyone surmised that a childhood friendship was the best explanation they’d ever get. Over time, other students got tiny glimpses of Kiyoomi’s warmth and brilliance, though very, very rarely, and they slowly understood that maybe he wasn’t as scary as he seemed to be. Kiyoomi, having been given a temporary tutor role against his initial wishes, patiently explaining concepts to a shy freshman; Kiyoomi helping out at the campus infirmary, very skilled at handling minor injuries with as little fuss as possible; Kiyoomi being persuaded to play the piano at a festival as a favor to his literature teacher. He still mostly kept to himself, but now people were more inclined to greet him and even approach him if needed. 

Asami’s kitchen was built in their second year of college, after the twins (with Kiyoomi and Motoya’s help) successfully made a case to their parents about how important it was for Asami, forever dedicated to food, to have a place to cook and create things, where she can make magic! It also made sense to have an apartment on the second floor so Asami could work all night if she wanted and easily go to bed upstairs. And so the workshop became a place for the four of them to spend time in, alone, in small groups, or all together, with Kiyoomi being the most frequent visitor.

Asami would try new recipes regularly, and by virtue of him being there in the workshop more than anyone else, Kiyoomi became her official taste tester. Some days were good, some days were horrible, but Kiyoomi had accepted this role without complaint. Sometimes, however, he felt like Asami enjoyed the suffering of his taste buds.

Atsumi had declared that she Did Not Enjoy Cooking, but on Asami’s bad recipe days, Atsumi would always end up making Kiyoomi his favorite tea, as if to apologize on behalf of her sister. Atsumi might not cook, but she knew her tea was awesome. Kiyoomi himself had expressed this much, and so she kept making hojicha for him even when he didn’t seem to need it.

Kiyoomi didn’t like parties, but the twins and his cousin had one for his twenty-first birthday anyway. He didn’t mind, actually, since it was just the four of them, like usual, at Asami’s workshop, but he made a show of Not Liking This Idea at All, just because.

“Kiyoomi-bocchan,” Atsumi said pointedly, and she dragged out the last syllable of the honorific, indicating her thinning patience. “Will you stop being a brat and just enjoy this?” Asami set a marjolaine cake on the table before Kiyoomi, and Motoya quickly lit the candles.

Asami laughed. “If you hate it so much, I promise not to make you a cake for your birthday next year.”

“And we don’t have to drink the plum wine I brought.” Motoya shrugged. “I can maybe give it to my parents instead.”

Kiyoomi sighed audibly, eyes narrowing at his so-called friends. His eyes fluttered shut and he silently made a wish, quickly blowing out the candles before they melted onto the beautiful ganache. Clapping and whooping, Motoya and the girls gathered around Kiyoomi for a picture. With a twin on either side of Kiyoomi and Motoya beside Asami, they squished together to fit into the frame, Atsumi pulling Kiyoomi in by the waist, her cheek against his jaw. Bright-eyed and happy, they all looked at the camera, yelling, “Aaaaaaah!”

Months later, Atsumi discovered that this became Kiyoomi’s laptop wallpaper.

Sakusa Kiyoomi Poetry Reading Hour at the workshop wasn’t new. This thing wasn’t anything new at all, as he had been reading poems aloud for Motoya and the twins since middle school, when Motoya started coming over to Hyogo for the summer. These days, however, Asami happened to ask Kiyoomi to read while she cooked, usually around dinnertime, just when the skies became orange and pink, transforming into the purple and indigo of twilight.

Atsumi would listen too sometimes, as she did her work in the other room. That evening she couldn’t catch all the words, but she understood that Asami had asked for a Neruda.

Kiyoomi’s voice carried well enough through the house that she could hear the tenderness with which he spoke:

_I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair._

_Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets._

_Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day_

_I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps._

Something about the words made Atsumi get up from her chair and leave her study. She wandered through the short hallway to the workshop, and she stood by the door, half hidden in the evening shadow.

_I hunger for your sleek laugh,_

_your hands the color of a savage harvest,_

_hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,_

_I want to eat your skin like a whole almond._

Atsumi watched Kiyoomi’s face as he read, his eyes shining with something she had never seen in him before. Asami, though her back was facing Kiyoomi, looked equally enthralled, and she stopped peeling carrots altogether. She carefully placed her knife on the sink, looking like she was trying to catch her breath.

_I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,_

_the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,_

_I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes_

Something fluttered in Atsumi’s rib cage and a quiver began somewhere below her left clavicle, slow but sharp.

_and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,_

_hunting for you, for your hot heart,_

_like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue._

Kiyoomi’s voice was hushed, like he was uttering something meant to be a secret—and the twinge in Atsumi’s chest became an undeniable ache when she realized that she had intruded in someone else’s moment, that she had heard something that wasn’t meant for her ears.

She didn’t even know that her eyes had filled with tears, and she kept a gasp from escaping by throwing both of her hands over her mouth.

“Kiyoomi-kun,” Asami said when he finished reading, moving to face him.

Atsumi decided she couldn’t watch any longer. She ran upstairs to her room, schoolwork forgotten.

“This is why Asami is my favorite,” Motoya announced the summer of the twins’ sixteenth year. “I wish you could make me onigiri every day!”

Asami laughed, a little embarrassed but also beaming at the praise. “Someday, when we live in the same city, Motoya-kun,” she promised, “I’ll cook something for you whenever possible.”

Atsumi grinned at Kiyoomi, who was decidedly not looking up from his book. “How about you, Omi-Omi?” Her eyes shone with curiosity. “Who’s your favorite?”

“Not Motoya, that’s for sure,” he responded, still not looking up. He flipped to the next page. Motoya threw a cushion at him. Unruffled, Kiyoomi kept reading.

Atsumi put her hands on her hips. “Kiyoomi-bocchan,” she said in a slightly measured tone.

Kiyoomi finally looked up, annoyance coloring his voice. “What, Atsumi-ojousama? I’m reading.”

Atsumi’s nose wrinkled a little, her pout stubborn. “Your favorite. I must know.”

Kiyoomi frowned right back at her, unwilling to give in to this ridiculousness. He sighed, suddenly tired, as he knew he would never find out what happened in the novel for as long as Atsumi didn’t get what she wanted. “All right, if you truly must know.”

Atsumi looked at him, eyes wide and shining. Kiyoomi shook his head slightly. “You are, of course.”

Atsumi didn’t quite remember how or when it started, but she had held on to those words, her tender young heart feeling absolutely cherished at the sight of Kiyoomi smiling at her like she was the silliest thing in the universe. She wasn’t quite so young anymore, and now she thought maybe she only saw what she had wanted to see: Kiyoomi’s eyes on her, only on her.

 _How absolutely fucking perfect_ , she thought, her breath caught in a loud sob. _That he’s now looking at the exact same face, except it’s on someone else._

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on Twitter @moondreamed! Feel free to say hi to me there! ❤️


End file.
